


Because she could not stop for Him

by miilky



Category: Frozen (2013), Frozen - Fandom
Genre: Arendelle, F/M, Kristoff isn't here, Mr. Death, OC, The Snow Queen - Freeform, The Southern Isles, sorry kristoff, the ice maiden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilky/pseuds/miilky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kindly stopped for her. </p><p>Elsa is never alone. No one is ever alone. Helsa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because she could not stop for Him

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by this gorgeous artwork by 24mango.tumblr.com http://40.media.tumblr.com/3d4b5f5d249c369b48ab8ca8bfa5d384/tumblr_ncz6rbNi421tqlv9uo1_500.png, who has taken it down from the main blog (by the looks of it), which is sad, but the work is gorgeous. Please, visit the place.
> 
> The story starts with Hans and moves on Elsa's side as the plot progresses. Elsa's kind of selfish, despite her noble intentions, and it's something I wanted to correct since she doesn't ever seem to realize it. Hans is selfish and doesn't care, but it isn't about Hans is it?
> 
> Hozier's "Take Me to Church" was on constant replay as I wrote this, and Gillian Flynn's "Gone Girl" really helped in the writing process. 
> 
> There are some extra notes at the end discussing other bits too.

_"We slowly drove-He knew no haste_  
 _And I had put away_  
 _My labor and leisure too,_  
 _For His civility-"_  
-Emily Dickinson, "Because I could not stop for Death"

He was present at insemination.

When the princess was conceived, he felt it. He was there, as assured, as the father mounted the mother and proceeded to conduct the unruly affair. The world was of constant change and shifts but the features of reproduction had not. The male pumped, grunted, and the mother's back was pressed down on the bed, nervous and frightened, unsure, but she was of the silent resignation sort and would not complain or whisper an utterance of discomfort even after its completion.

Why? By human perception his presence would have been considered evasive, but there was no need for an explanation when the answer laid in a most painfully obvious truth. With every new life created its death is put on hold. It was nothing more, nothing less; it was what it was. As sobering a truth it may have been, when the necessary ingredients met, shook hands, and combined, his work began. Life was fragile, as beautiful as it was, and could have ended right as the mother rolled to her side, curled in her bed sheets. It could have ended five months later when the mother nearly suffered an unwarranted fall down the steps. At nine months she did not breathe when she poured into the world, and he contemplated then, as her tiny body drew in its first cold breath in her mother's arms, that perhaps it'd be best for her to sleep right then and there.

He decided, no, the time was not ripe, and he was, for what it worth, curious to the path the young princess was to take in the future.

With the aid of her parents, nurses, and countless guards spearheading her protection, she thrived. A month later he watched as the number of guards increased drastically, inspired after her northern cousin's disappearance in her parents' palace. Or, as he came to understand, stolen from her crib as her parents slept soundly nearby. A droll company I admit, said his northern space, Sunlight cheats again, but it will give in, with time. He did not carry familiar resentment, if it was resentment-he preferred annoyance, for the fair-haired child with her snow-white complexion. Her magic was powerful, an ancient magic lost in the time of the fae (though two did remain-tenacious sisters as they ever were), but it was not so powerful to succeed him. He waited. He was patient to see what flourished, or what withered in the years to come.

There were countless others. He'd never be alone.

"Help." Whimpered, sobbed, the young princess, "Mama, Papa."

He readily attested to her impressiveness. Her imagination was generic but lively for an eight year old, and her five-year-old sister assisted in the magic's manifestation. She concentrated thoughtless, with automatic precision, of what she wanted to create and how it would be created in her ice and snow. Her sister, the younger princess, fell in love with each and every creation, as much as she was in love with her older sister. But he supposed, watching the incident unfold aside, that this would be the last time in a long time he would behold such a display of awe-inspiring power. Ah, the ice quakes. She is displeased, another shade informed him, and he replied solemnly, Giving it to a mortal was a choice strong enough of quaking. He stepped silently on the ice ridden floor, until he was well into the bright light where the young princess crouched on the floor, tears sliding down her pale cheeks, dropping helplessly on the younger princess' cheeks.

She fades…, there was something about the shade he could not explain, and when he looked up all was understood. His shape and form depended on the person, on his personal choice, and he was never picky when it came to forms for the human race. But this, as he observed, was not of his creation, and though anger, displeasure, should have been born, he was far more curious than he should have been.

She was taller than he, graceful, and carried an air of disappointed apathy as they watched the child sink further into death while her sister cried and pleaded for her parents to arrive. Her face was sharp and angular, and her lips paled and cracked. Her skin was as white as the young princess' skin, but lacked the warmth of blood, the warmth of love. Her hair toppled as endless white rivers, and she dressed in equally white fur with a white hat on her head. When she spoke she spoke with slow, deliberate caution, as if she any word she uttered would be used against her. He found this quite overtly cautious in that he was incapable of interfering directly with the land of the living, and that she, as a creature in between, was left in a much safer area than most.

He stared at her, at this thief, and remembered that she was far craftier than he expected and far cleverer than he anticipated.

"You are upset." He turned thoughtful, "Of what has happened?"

"Upset." She repeated and turned her head slowly, so slowly the knots in her neck popped and cracked, "Of what has happened?"

She stared at the girl, the girl whose hair slowly turned from its sunny reddish blonde to a ghastly white that was neither snow or painted.

"Your anger is misplaced. She is of what you wanted her to be, of what was planned. Of the deal."

For the briefest of moments her solid iced face expressed something other than apathy, hostility. He watched as bones and muscles contorted in something akin to being slighted, a pain she had not recognized when she first concocted her assimilation underneath his watchful gaze. As quickly as it arrived, in passed in the same manner, and she remained tight and closed off, arms at her side as her frightful eyes bore into the sobbing girl and her unconscious sister.

"This will have averse effects."

"And you did not foresee it when you decided to use her as a vessel?"

She answered him quietly, evenly, and did not explain in deeper detail of what she fully intended to do. He knew already, what plans she had in store for the child, but what they did not know or take into account was what the child herself would come to understand on her own. For as they spoke and conversed, as the footsteps of the King and Queen sounded down the corridors, the young princess raised her gaze at the man and woman. Her eyes widened in acknowledgement, and they did not see as her trembling paused in the temporary moment as her world started to shift. Her hold on her sister did not weaken, did not break in the time before her Mama and Papa opened the doors, but she knew she saw them.

They were there; the man in black and the woman in white.

Her papa lifted her in his arms, and they rode into the night. She did not forget their faces, the sound of their voices, and sunk deeper in her papa's velvety coat.

There was nothing to be done about Anna's white hair. She jokingly quipped they were more like twins than individual sisters, but that was the little hope to be found in the nasty situation. They were lucky, said the trolls, that the enchanted cold had not swallowed her entirely by time they arrived. But she lived. Anna was alive, amnesiac, but alive. As the world shifted for her on the night she saw the man in black, the world continued to change after the fateful night. Elsa now lived in a room all her own, and she was not allowed to have visitors unless her parents approved them. The gates were closed, more than half of the servants dismissed, and the guards were put to ridiculous heights, more so than at her birth.

Elsa was alone in a room of her own. Her room allowed her to release her magic as she desired, but she was restrained in her abilities. She never laid a hand willingly for magic to exit, but it exited either way, no matter how much she tried to conceal and never feel.

"Conceal, don't feel," Papa's hands locked on top of hers, and she saw how his eyes glistened in the sunlight. Silently, Mama watched beside them, and her eyes watered on the rims. Elsa knew, without needing to look in her direction, to expect their water-spent nights, anger born from sorrow drops falling on the pillow, which made water prick at her eyes.

Anna refused to be forgotten. Her requests were endless. She wouldn't stop, and her childish insistence gave Elsa hope. For what? Even she questioned this as she sat her desk, studying geometry; there was little hope in the situation she was born with. Anna's squeaky voice carried down the halls, and each knock carried more gravity than a five year old's hand should. Several times she nearly opened the door, several times her resolve weakened to twist the knob in her grasp, and with each weakened flash another, painful, struck her heart. White hair. All she had to do was look into the mirror and remember, "Our hair's the same, Elsa! Aren't we pretty?"

She recoiled as if the knob burned her, and gently curled it into its twin. The words solemnly phrased by the grandfather trolled rang in her head memory like a bell, "A great beauty, but also a grave danger."

No, thrusting the pen harder than she intended, a black blotch splattered on the paper. She leaned into her chair and examined her close to completed work. The blotch could be removed. She would remove it. Her magic would not suffer a similar fate. Containment was possible. Papa was hopeful with time and practice her powers would be only an afterthought. Her fingers would no longer freeze or blister the skin of others, of those poor furniture surfaces. Wearing her gloves, she was free to touch as much as she pleased, and she was alone, in her new bedroom. Her books, clothes, bed moved from the safe space she shared with another, and she sighed sadly, the tiny breath echoing hollowly in the room.

As loneliness' strength rose each day, devouring her as her magic nearly devoured Anna, she was not alone, or as alone as her apprehension led her to be.

Sitting at her desk, geometry pushed to the side, her eyes skirted to the edge of their sockets. Fear normally would have taken to her, and she would have cried for her parents, guards, someone to rid herself of the person. In the commotion of things, in the royal family's deeply rooted fear of losing their youngest addition, she realized that she was the sole person to observe the man in their residence.

Fear wanted to steal her. Fear wanted to claim it as her own, but to her surprise, her knowing of this man's presence was oddly comforting.

She kept silent for too long. Days passed, and he continued to follow. Did he watch her sleep? Bathe? Her mind could not wrap itself around it, but she knew, at least today, she would say something of importance. It mattered little if it was of dim importance.

Her gloved fingers folded firmly around the end of the desk, and she panted, sucking in a steady breath before exhaling slowly. Her heart rattled in her chest, and she closed her eyes, letting her lips part, "What are you, sir?"

The man in black stood in the center of the window where the restless air circled at his feet. The afternoon sun's rays poured down on him. He was handsome, beautiful even, but not in the way her parents were. She was reminded of ancient portraits and statues; he was not exactly real, more ethereal than real. Other worldly, she nodded in affirmation, proud of her vast vocabulary. His face appeared to be made of marble-colorless, and though his hair was as red as the deepest rose, it was listless-flat on his skull. He was unappealing, and yet, terribly welcoming in ways she never thought possible. He spoke no words to her, did not exchange a passive glance, but she knew he was waiting for her to do something, which was why she opened her mouth in the first place.

"Me." He continued to stare out the window, arms folded behind his back, "I am your shade, child."

"Shade?" Turned fully in the chair, she rested her hands on her lap and twisted inquisitively, "What do you mean shade? I-I saw you that night, with Anna, why didn't help her?" Her hands twisted in frustration. She should not have presumed he would have known what to do with Anna then, as her parents were just as lost as she was, but no one had seen him. He was invisible, and what was invisible was certainly abnormal by all means.

His high tilted head came down slowly, and the single eye visible quickly set in motion so that it peered at her endlessly, solidly still. She jumped in reaction, gloves tightening on her lap.

"I choose to diminish my intervention because my abilities are limited in your world." He chose deliberately, speaking nothing but the truth, "My domain is in another realm, and it is there where my powers are great."

"Powers?" Shifting off her chair, a ghost of a smile touched her lips as she stepped cautiously across the room. White frost stuck to the walls, her most recent attempt in containing her powers, and her fingers clawed into her dress as she inched closer to the unmoving figure, "You have powers?"

The man was unimpressed with her aw, "Mortals. They forget easily." He did not reprimand the child for her curiosity. In fact, he was almost moved by her nature. "She is pleased by this," whispered a wintery shade, but he still could not interfere with her plans, no matter how meddlesome they were.

"Yes," he answered, "I do have powers, as others exist in the world with their powers."

"Really?" She gasped, "Others have powers like me? You've got powers like me?"

"No." Her expression faltered, "Whether born with it or acquired later, remnants of the old world exist in people like you, scattered across the planet." In an abandoned tower in the middle of the woods there lived a lost princess whose hair was as yellow as the golden sun itself. How uncannily similar their faces were, despite sharing a single line of blood relation, but he was in no place to question their eerily similar faces. Faces were irrelevant, and hardly worth mentioning as the child peered at him with wide eyes, on the verge of pitiful tears.

"What are they like?" Each breath was a whispering gasp, delight escalating with every pant, "Ice? Fire? Or is it general magic where they can do anything they wish?"

"The power varies person from person." He eyed the child critically, "And you should have no worry of them. Your place is here. The rest of the world is barred to you."

His timbre was flat, void of emotion, and so unlike Papa's. There was no warmth, ice, gentile smiles, or disappointed frowns. Where Papa was royal blue, golden crests, red ribbons, and polished back shoes, this man was dark in his entirety. He possessed no volume, no anger, nothing she could detect and identify as human emotion, and yet, as she drew closer to him, separated by a few inches, the fear she should have felt was frozen in its place, thawed and melted by something else.

That fear, misplaced and lost in the frozen tundra, led to something unimaginable. Pink flesh curled at the hem of his coat, and she changed her focal direction to the closed window, the distant Northern Mountains clear in her sights.

"In this world." The relief breaking free in her heart was immeasurable.

* * *

 

"Did you know?"  
"Yes."  
"Of course you knew."

His honesty was a mocking comfort, but her return was not. It was impossible, the realization sinking deeper, for her to ever return. For hours she paced the palace's third floor, and her fingers twisted in and out of each other. Her dress traveled sullenly behind her, a mass of ice and sequins, and worked as a constant reminder of her actions and their effects. The pain she caused, and as she clicked her way to the nearest window, feeling the chill of the wind graze her skin, she watched as the kingdom below come to life with little orange dots.

"They mourn." She was spiked. Her volume trembled from tense sensations swarming down her spine, and the harder she tried to fight them down, the overpowering guilt, the harder it bit at her, knowing at her bone, "They mourn for their king."

She was radiant in the way a queen should be, as her mother was, and underneath her regal stance was a crisp sharpness, intuition missing during childhood. No longer did the doe-eyed, melancholy child linger in the corners of her expansive bedroom. Gone away was the young lady at the cusp of adolescence whose entire existence relied on demure avoidance, concealing who and what she was. Must not dos. So many forbidden acts, so many clutching at her throat-digging into her back, and now, they too scattered as the wind did.

"I've gone too far." She squeezed her eyes shut and bit back a choking sob threatening to topple off her lips, "I should've never left…but if I hadn't." Her arms spread on the open window, no glass or curtains to close it, and she inhaled deeply, never minding the frigid air sinking low into her lungs.

"Perhaps," he said finally, "but it is too late to return now. The King is dead, and the heir will ascend to the throne."

"Heir?" Her back straightened, and he heard as her confusion transitioned into realization, horrified realization, "Anna."

"There is no one else."

"But Anna!" She spun around, snow swirling hotly at her feet, and he made no move to dodge the furious snowflakes as they approached him, "It's Anna."

"And she is the heir." He said it too calmly for a furious, frozen spike dashed at him, passing through him as it crashed into the wall, "There is no one left."

She mumbled dejectedly, "Anna is not fit to rule. She'd be so…lost." As lost as she is without me, ten years passed since they exchanged a full conversation. For ten years their words had been limited to a 'good morning' and a potential 'good night,' most times less. For the first time in those ten years their lips parted excitedly, uncontrollably, and she came so close. Touching her was her greatest wish, for her fingers to graze her sister's peach skin once again, to absorb its warmth no matter how fleeting on her skin, and she was left wanting more as

For the first time in those ten years, their lips flapped excitedly, uncontrollably, and she came so close. To touch her, to her fingers grazing her sister's peach skin once again, to feel its warmth, and the liberation she felt in that possibility, chances increasing as the day progressed, was unfathomable to her.

Anna's teal eyes glistened in the sunlight, "We were close when were little…can we be like that again?"

"It's all his fault!" She spun around, dress following eagerly, "Mama and Papa wanted to betroth her. Someone she just met, someone she doesn't even know."

"And what of you?" He asked politely, taking note of strain in her face, "Are you not to marry in the future?"

She waved a disregarding hand and gnawed on her thumbnail, "Give her time, they say. She'll love him, and he'll love her, in time, as our parents. But what do they know?" Marriage was a frequent source of conversation, and as the future queen, she knew the time might arise for her to choose a suitable consort. Mama told her the mechanics of reproduction, patiently, when she received her first nightly visitor, but there was never much talk of marriage between she and another. Marriage came about among the servants, nobility, and other royal family members, even those far off. But she herself was never the central topic, although she knew the maids were found solace in discussing her possible future consort. She waited for Papa to take her aside during one of her lessons to teach her what was expected of her as future queen, but the talk never happened. Even Mama refrained from voicing the importance of producing an heir, of having a consort, and as she stood in the cold, eyes fighting off tempting tears, she finally understood why.

She preferred her solitude, and never thought of marriage except for a means to an end. It shouldn't have stung as much as it did.

"I wonder if they've married." She whispered, "If she's with child. Mama would be pleased."

Mirthless laughter rang in the chilled air, "I don't even know what he looks like."

"And what are you going to do?" Having stood as silently as he did he was not in a position to make demands. He was not a guide or a source of comfort or conscience. He observed, listened, and that was his little spot in the world, his many little spots in the world.

Wavering at her mouth, her fingers twitched with uncontrolled magic, and the crown framing her forehead and the sides of her face sparkled, "I-I can't go back. No one will forgive me, after this. I can't-I've killed him, don't you see? I didn't mean to…he shouldn't have come after me!"

The cold consumes him, another shade's last words returned to him. Memories dissipated as the next stage of existence was met. The King stepped reluctantly into a colorless light, and his eyes swelled with crystal tears, "My girls, poor children. My noble Elsa, my sweet Anna."

"His coming was his doom." He explained briskly and stepped towards her with an alarming calmness.

"Is that you all have to say about this?" She closed the gap between them and focused on his eyes. Fear took flight, and caution was backed to the wall, evaporated. She was never brazen or fearless, both words useless on her, but comfortable was something he noticed as lacking ever since she was a child. Several inches taller in heels not accustomed to the wind and snow, or accustomed in the time period, she was nearly at his forehead.

"His coming was his doom," she repeated icily, "I was his doom is what you mean to say."

"No."

"You lie weakly." Her features softened, "I'm lost. I am lost, and I don't know what to do."

Childhood was abandoned for a seraphic maturity, reaching far beyond any earthly realm. Her skin was as white as winter's freshly born snow, and on the verges of tears, she seemed to sparkle as brightly as her crown. "You need your sister," startled at his admission, he was aware of his trembling fingers and the slight withdrawal as her laced her fingers into his, a habit she had not grown out of yet. Praying, hoping were mockeries to her, but she wanted, needed, something else from him. She knew his truth, understood his nature and his part in the grand scheme of things. For ten years he had been her confidant, her sole companion, a figure shrouded in light and darkness and was invisible except for one little girl whose magic supplied he with more than she could have ever dreamt for.

During those ten years, never having someone, mortal, approach him in such a direct manner, he found himself slipping on what he should and should not say. Honesty was the finest policy, was what he known as facts and logic, nothing more and less, but as time pushed stubbornly forward, as she matured and developed-as they conversed, he knew bits of his existence started to meld firmly into hers.

"What do you want me to say?" Hopeless was his statement, though it was said in a painless-uncomfortably stoic form, "I cannot say more than what is."

Where most would have grown angry, she pursed her lips in a sad smile, with her hold strengthening as she did, "I know you cannot. I have been awfully selfish lately." Tears like rain trailed down her pale cheeks, lightly freckled, and splashed into hard crystals on the floor.

She whimpered, "My crimes will bring ruin to Arendelle. If I return…what will be done to my people, what will the world think of my kingdom?"

"He loves you still," was all he could say, and vaguely, he remembered distant traces of reluctance, bitterness, and sadness at needing to depart and what was to be left behind. That love, despite its faults, tightened around his metaphorical chest, and a strange occurrence flashed across his eyes as he returned her listless stare.

Reassurance of her Papa's love was not something she wanted to hear, but he believed, quietly, it was something she needed to hear. Still grasping his hands a thoughtful frown descended on her lips, and she sighed, releasing a cloud of breath that lingered for several seconds longer than normally. She realized something, as his hand grasped hers just as strongly, and she released her grip, hesitantly, lightly. And their fingertips brushed against each other briefly, a surge of furious frost biting at them. It did not hurt them, not once, "The cold never bothered me anyway," she said to him as a child, determined to fly off in the swirling clouds of the Northern Mountain.

He was as cold as death, as cold as winter itself. They were disappointingly compatible.

"I don't know what he looks like, this prince." She folded her arms into herself and hunched her back slightly, "If he's nice or good, if he wants what's best for Arendelle, for Anna."

An idea came to her, "Can you-,"

"I am no mind reader."

"You say so much of their feelings, and the things you do know."

He watched, "Their memories, anticipation-reluctance, emotions flowing to the other side come to me, and I absorb them."

"You feel them?" Scrutinizing him and wrinkling her nose, the gap between them remained wide, but she waited for him to explain himself, which he started by shaking his head softly.

"No, I absorb them. It is quite a process." She swallowed the information and nodded thoughtfully, seeming to understand what he was telling her.

"You don't feel them, but absorb them-like inventory?" He nodded, "How much do you have up there?"

Often their conversation took the turn of her wanting to understand him, rather than the other way around. Like any mortal would, her inner goal of dissecting his nature was one of born from the thirst of knowledge. She craved to prove herself right and wrong in the basic sense of deciphering his existence. Carving him open like a turkey, vivisecting his inwards was impossible-she knew he lacked vital organs, but his words, the worldly knowledge contained in his mind was more valuable than any book, transcript, or letter she would ever find on the planet.

After her question his shoulders stiffened, "All."

"All." She repeated, "And you gathered Papa's, didn't you?" Again irritated she glared out the window to the kingdom, whose lights shined brighter than ever, "That's why you said what you said, but his love doesn't matter now, not to the people."

At the tip of his tongue an abnormal reassurance surfaced, and his teeth, in retaliation, grinded down on the pink, plush flesh. His muscles tightened, stiffened, and he blinked twice before letting what he felt sink low into an icy oblivion.

"Human memory is surprisingly resilient, and will take some time to lessen its anger, hatred. But I doubt, with your magic as powerful as it is, anyone is aware of it."

She wouldn't be reassured and couldn't accept false niceties. "What they do know is that I escaped, and Papa went after me, alone." Telling no one but his wife, he ventured outside the kingdom alone; it was early Spring, traces of winter remaining, but not enough to harm him. But what he hadn't known...when he was found, his body was as close to frozen as humanly thinkable, inches from his last breath. The guards returned him home, and three years later, she watched the lanterns float away in the darkened night.

Her location was a mystery. If anyone had known, surely they would have come in search of her, or at least curiosity would have stirred them forward. Her eyes were bruised from the lack of sleep, and when she walked, it was not with the liberated confidence and a sway of her hips. Her back was hunched and arms folded into her midsection as she departed for her room.

Feeling was unnecessary. The world was open for him to peer but not touch, feel, what those underneath felt. But watching her ascend the stairs to her empty room, each sound a hollow click on the walls, he wanted to hope-desperately wanted to hope that something could change.

Her somber reflection descended as she ascended, and steady eyes trailed the reflection on blue ice. White, soft hair turned black, spiked, and the mirror's reflection rumbled at lips snarling in triumph.

* * *

"You usurped her."  
"Yes, yes I have!"  
"How humble of you."

Sharply unrepentant laughter shook the glass walls. She tried to shake him, but he remained solid and firm on the ground. He was not defiant, but he was immovable. And his immobility sufficed. He was repulsed by her laughter, by her looks, by her, and he shortly questioned when did he start to find things repulsive. He quickly surmised the timing was irrelevant when the now was exceedingly pressing, and that he was presently in the now he needed to handle his current situation with the utmost care. Not that he could handled it any other way.

The woman sat on a throne made of ice. It was solid ice to the point where there was no transparency, just white, and she sat proudly, noting the wild blizzard on the outside.

"You are upset." The truth was hilarious, and she cackled, barking with hoarse joviality as she sprung on her throne, kicking her feet gleefully in the air, "It's brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!"

Furs and sequins were discarded for a simple cloth dress bombarded with simple design. White as the snow itself with blue trimmings there was no trailing behind when she walked, stopping at her ankles. Her hair was neither smooth, lengthy, or white, having chosen its opposite color as its tint, and was disheveled, standing as sharp spikes with equally chiseled points.

When the throne room's doors whipped open a cold retort was set in his arsenal, but whatever he meant to shoot was lost in the fury that was the rightful queen of Arendelle. She stormed, leaving a trail of ice in her wake, and she was unfettered by his presence, sending him a closed glare on her path. Stomping quickly behind were the feet of armed guards, their bayonets and other trifles raised in preparation of the intruder, or perhaps the potential queen herself. As they entered in one collected group their polished boots skidded to a halt and stared wide-eyed at the confrontation, their faces drew puzzled blanks, and their heads shifted from the white-haired blonde to the dark-cloud brunette. And he? He stood in the middle between the two women, knowing his play was finished, and what was to come would come in due time.

"What are you?" Who didn't matter to Elsa, who was of no importance (but of so much importance) of what the creature was, and she stopped near the steps but far enough to ensure any possible attacks would not immediately strike her. Fingers trembled at her side but refrained from clenching into burning fists, and she swallowed thickly, feeling her throat tighten around itself, "And why have you come to Arendelle?"

The dark-spiked woman snickered as a greedy child did on their birthday, and switched her position on the throne to something more comfortable.

"The prodigal daughter has returned!" Snapping her fingers, she stretched on the throne as if it were a sofa, naked feet swinging in the air, "It is so good to finally meet you, Crowned Princess Elsa of Arendelle. My sister, oh yes, has taken such a liking to you that I thought, and thinking is something I rarely do, 'Why not visit this pupil of my sister's? Why not see why she has passed a treasured family heirloom to a mortal."

Though she spoke her words gleefully, kindly enough, she spat mortal in a sloppy mess. She toyed with her nails, watching them indifferently as silence tore at the group, and he wavered in which side to approach.

"What are you talking about?" Fighting the urge to shout, scream, and attack, she returned to the lessons of proper etiquette and folded her hands demurely in front her, staring the intruder down, "This sister of yours I have never met, and this family heirloom of yours I have never heard of."

She eyed him, "And he," she giggled sharply in between, "Did not tell you?"

Knowing the company's eyes recorded every movement she did not twist her head in a penetrating stare but held her stance and strengthened it with a soft upward tilt of her head.

"He," knowing the company's eyes recorded every movement made she did not twist her head in a penetrating stare but strengthened her stance with a soft upward tilt of her head, "is of no concern here." But he was, and soon would be in the later hours.

The woman's cat gaze bounced off Elsa and onto him, then repeated the process joyfully, "I suppose he is not that important, only a shade-tsk, only a shade. Nonetheless, you and I have much to discuss, Crowned Princess of Arendelle!"

"We will do no talking ever!" She whipped into a defensive stance, snow trembling at her feet, "You will voice your intentions now."

"Intentions?" The woman purred, and in one graceful step, she was off the throne and three inches away from the princess, "My intentions are of noble construct, my princess," she curtsied, "I just want to know what my sister left our family's heirloom too."

Hair, skin, snow, she was the embodiment of winter. She was what winter breathed in, what it swallowed, her skeletal system was made of ice and not of bones as man was. No desires beyond the ice and sky existed for her, and her greatest desire of them all, for this creature of ice and snow, was for the legacy to endure the centuries, to never die, to never cease being what it was. Winter's place was on the wheel of seasons, and it would never be forgotten, the magic within.

* * *

"We've lost so much."  
"And now, I can give something back. Something I was too afraid to do back then."  
"Elsa, Elsa, please, no."

Howls, curses, and declarations of war, of retribution and setting right once wrong, were cut down in their infancy. The battle lasted a little under twenty-five minutes, and in those twenty-five minutes the residents of the small kingdom Arendelle watched in suspenseful, throat burning silence as their long lost princess, presumed dead, returned and fought to reclaim something she had long ago tarnished and abandoned. But despite their internal fear of magic, ingrained so intimately, and their distrust after her departure, they chanted her name, these faceless individuals, as if it were a holy prayer-the most single important word in the history of language.

And what of him? Shade. He, the ever-silent observer and container of endless knowledge-near and far, but couldn't do anything with his vast knowledge. He spent centuries in isolation, attached to various and countless organisms; some with beating hearts and others tied to the planet itself. He stood close and above. He watched as the battle ensued, as the rightful Queen defended herself against the Maiden, and he saw the bloodlust in the latter's eyes, the disdainful, heartbroken, confused thirst to destroy what her sister had started twenty-one years ago. As the battle ensued, as the Queen dodged the Maiden's strikes and returned with raged pierced blows, the chants grew stronger in volume and pride, a strangling realization came upon him as a tsunami did on an unsuspecting town.

"You win." Snow gleamed on top the Maiden, and she screeched in fury, less quick-witted and precise while the Queen's accuracy increased along with her heavy blows.

Never did she feel as alive as she did in those final moments. In the twenty-one and a half years she had spent living in the kingdom, on the planet, blood never rushed through her veins like it did then. Not when she escaped her Papa, not when she met the Maiden-not when the Queen appeared to her in the night; only one time, one time, did she ever recall such an enthralling sensation.

There was fear; yes, fear was alive. Fear of what was to come, but this fear was dull, aching, and vacant despite knowing it was near. Right at her heart, whispering preciously in her ear, and she knew he was waiting for her, watching her.

Shrouded in shadows, a blanket over a shivering child, and he wanted nothing more than to get closer, to do something, be able.

Their eyes locked briefly, quick steps leading the Witch away from her kingdom, "I'll be there shortly, but Anna, she needs me." The one time she ever alive and free.

"Ice and snow was never yours to possess," repeated for the one-hundredth time, and she winced at the sound and words, eyes fluttering in discomfort as another slim thin icicle was sent her way, barely missing her cheek. Elsa was no fool, but she was aware of how different they were in skill and power. Both naturally born with their abilities, the Witch was of winter, as Elsa merely was its handler.

Time was scant and greedy; debating their differences in abilities and skill, the likliehood of an impending demise was fruitless in her adventure. Several meters away Anna's voice rang clear as crystal, like a glass filled with bubbly champagne, and with certainty, dodging another incoming attack, Elsa knew her sister was on her way towards her, in spite of the warnings and promises.

"Got you!" Ice ripped through the dress sleeve, and tore at the fragile skin underneath. Aroused in a way she knew was not human, more animalistic than anything else, the Witch advanced on snow clouds, rapidly closing the distance between them. With blood oozing from the wound, sharp and piercing and slit opened, Elsa raised her hands in offense rather than the defense she'd been working for. But in th one swift movement, instinctively thoughtless, the answer of the question lying in the front of her mind arrived.

"Got you!" Elsa bit down on her tongue, defiant of the hurling scream as ice tears through her dress and skin, ripping on her upper arm. Aroused than she had ever seen any man, the Witch rode clouds of snow towards her. The distance closed rapidly, with Elsa's hands waving in defense, but one swift movement, thoughtless and frightened, answered the question buried in the front of her mind. Swiping off her arm, red splattered on white, and Elsa closed her eyes as something burned and crackled in the geild air.

Considering the circumstances of her death, pain wasn't at the levels it should've been; impalement wasn't an easy way to go, after all. She was fading quickly, losing sight, shortness of breath, and the metallic taste of blood rang true in her mouth. But in that moment, as she laid on the thawing ice, too weak to chance a look at the nearby crimson stained body with smoke rising off the charred flesh, she realized it wasn't as painful as what kneeled above her. The slow realization of another loss, of another missed opportunity, and the grief, oh the grief, was abundant in Anna's eyes. Elsa wanted to die quickly, let her slip away before having to see this, but she knew it'd be selfish. Her death was selfish, but it was necessary. And she didn't want to be selfish anymore.

Head on Anna's lap, "I'm so sorry, for everything, everything…I should've told you the truth."

Anna choked on a water gasp, "Yes, you should've! You all should've. We waited so long, and we missed you so much."

"And I've missed you."

Sadness was anticipated, how could it not be, but this sadness was something she was tragically unprepared for. There were tears, sloppy and heaving, and she gripped harder on Anna's hand than she intended to. There were many she apologized to; the people, Mama, and even the fae who mercilessly given her the powers so coveted. She demanded her freedom and didn't want to see what it'd cost, and she wanted to keep her sister safe, blind to the damage she was doing to her all the same. Anna loved Elsa, and Elsa loved Anna.

Desperately lovingly those phrases were repeated, hand in hand, and Elsa watched as Anna's features were blurred and dissipated in the sunlight.

"Oh Anna, you're so warm!" Feeling the coveted warmth, she clasped her hand around his, and wasn't disappointed in its frigidness.

* * *

Kingdoms near and far arrived for the coronation, and they were the special guests of honor, reveling in the celebration and overwhelming excitement.

"She's lovely." Said the Queen as they watched the newly inducted princess rise on the pedestal, "Her parents raised her well."

"Parents?" She eyed him cryptically and shrugged, "If I remember correctly you thought he'd be a royal dunce who wanted to steal your kingdom."

"I wasn't wrong about that." She sniffed, "He isn't as awful as I expected him to be. He's still arrogant, but he does love his family, and Anna most of all, which is what I've always wanted for her."

The young lady shivered in the early spring air, and trembled as the tiara was lowered on her red-coated hair. Her teal eyes scanned the masses, and when she saw familiar faces, smiled brilliantly with a small wave. The audience, filled with diplomats and royals near and far, stood on their feet and applauded the recently crowned princess. Her parents, standing nearby, wore heartfelt eyes and proud smiles while her six sibling stood next to them, confused and dulled with the longevity. They were pleased, but craved the assured treats to follow.

The princess opened her hands to everyone in attendance, and released the cold within, striking the sky in warm sparks, ice and snow as strong as the tundra. Those in attendance did not scream or gasp, they collapsed in joy, and her siblings came to life, apprehension an alien concept to the princes and princesses. Her parents, they smiled and nodded, relieved to have come as far as they did.

The Queen nodded and traced their faces, "It's what she wanted. Now, we are free." She looked behind them on the fjord and saw the glacier where her body was sealed, a memorial for the stolen princess, and a reminder of the potential of cherished magic.

"And you are not angered by her use of you?" He narrowed his eyes, "How easily disposed you were?"

On the fjord she floated and glanced at the glacier where her body was entombed. All attempts to recover the corpse ended in failure, especially so after the small patch swallowed the body in a mighty block of ice, which in turn was eaten by the water, eternally resting in the depths.

"A memorial," she explained to him, "Anna wants me remembered, and the sacrifice I made, the potential of magic and its return." She brightened at him then, "I see them now. The others, and there are many of them. More than I could have ever dreamt."

Using a demure hand to shield her mouth as she laughed, she appeared more alive in death than she ever did alive, "Do you see her or her sister around?"

"No."

"Question answered." She stepped away from the tomb and marched in the opposite direction of the kingdom, "A pawn has become the queen, and I've triumphed over both of them, and you too."'

At last they were one in the same, and she reached contentment where loneliness was not as terrible as it initially felt. The wind was weak against his darkened rust hair and her white braid, growing past her back. Smiling softly at him, she nodded and positioned to the side as her fingers folded over his hand, and they stood close together, her and his eyes bearing into each other. One soulless being met his match in one filled with more than a soul, an identity. He stepped further, closer to her, and she closed her eyes as she enveloped him in a warm cold, feeling him lock himself in her inventory.

Another shift, change, and shades of black ice stood vigilant in the empty posts, eternally attached to the breathing creatures below.

She was present at insemination.

**Author's Note:**

> Once you're born, your death is set into motion.
> 
> Hans Christian Andersen also wrote "The Ice Maiden" who is far more villainous than The Snow Queen ever was, and I think it's unfair for her to get the automatic villain role. She doesn't do much in the story from what I can remember except acting as a cold opposite to the warm-hearted heroine, Gerda. The Ice Maiden kills the male protagonist at the end, kiss of death, and leaves his love stranded on a beach.
> 
> The fight scene is inspired by this: http://b4tekt.tumblr.com/post/82422681628/oh-thats-hurt-pain-its-my-gift-to-you-b4 (early!Elsa v. Elsa)
> 
> In this they are sisters, and the Snow Queen, for selfish reasons, chooses to make Elsa a martyr in ways for future magic users. Through Elsa, she wants to bring back what was lost in the old age-an understanding of magic/what is different from the norm, and she sees Elsa's potential demise as a necessary evil. Her sister, the Maiden, feels the need to remain in seclusion and defense, and opposes her sister at every turn, leading her to kill Elsa after killing her sister.
> 
> Yes, Elsa/Anna is a contrast to Queen-y/Maiden. I do believe they loved each other once upon a time.
> 
> Hans as Death. He's the coldest character in the original film, unfeeling, and eventually starts to feel as he spends time with Elsa. Every shade is different. Anna's shade is hijacked and easily could've been Kristoff, if I had included him (Sorry, Bjorman and Sven).
> 
> Anna's husband could be the actual Hans, or some other red-headed young man. 
> 
> Death in Dickinson's poem isn't seen as a malevolent entity. He follows her, pursues her, but she's accepting of him, waiting for him as he waits for her. She goes with him calmly, peacefully; death is a part of life after all? Elsa decides she doesn't want to be a pawn anymore, and ascends to Queendom. 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts.


End file.
